I Want To Hear You Say
by fellow-traveller
Summary: Ludwig fell in love with a blind man named Ivan. But how can he say he loves him when he himself is mute? RusGer AU


_...  
_

_Sound.  
All around._

_Wind is whispering.  
Sky is singing.  
Flowers are laughing.  
Grasses are talking._

_But what does it matter  
To a man who couldn't chatter  
To a man who couldn't see  
So what does a sound mean;  
tell me._

_...  
_

* * *

..

"Ludwig! Ludwig!"

A shrill voice that belonged to a vibrant ten-year old boy with white, silvery hair and crimson eyes, echoed from the other end of the garden...or what was left of it.

The garden wasn't big and it was the only small patch of dried green in their home. Even the word 'home' was a little exaggerating. The building with chipped walls and facade on its roof, which housed four households, was no different than a broken-down warehouse.

The ones living upstairs include a small Italian family of which the youngest of them was always so nosy in the other occupants' business and could never keep quiet, and the other resident was a quiet man with a scar on his forehead, who seemed to be the loneliest in the house. No one knew what he was doing in his room, and no one dared to go in there either. The first floor was occupied by the landlord's family; a Chinese man who was constantly in an angry mood with everyone, but never with his little bratty siblings.

The ten-year old boy lived in the basement, with another boy named Ludwig. They were brothers, even if they appear to have different fathers. Their mother was a sweet German lady who didn't seemed to bother about her name being tarnished with how...no, _who_ she had been spending her nights with. She was the kindest person in the world, but people seemed to be more interested in her occupation than her strong will to see her kids grow up into useful men.

Negative words about their mother spread fast in that small town where they lived in. But the boy didn't care. Their mother rarely reached home at night, and they would only see her early in the morning. She would fashion a few bluish marks on her neck, sometimes there were marks on her wrists and thighs too. But the boy still didn't care.

No, Gilbert didn't care at all.

"Ludwig! Ludwig!" He called again. Now his face was covered with an urging excitement and a wide grin took place under his sharp, pointy nose. "Look what I found!"

The younger boy, who was probably at the age of four, stood up from where he was squatting; watching his older brother running towards him as he patted his chubby soil-stained hands on his big denim overalls. Ludwig had been fond of the garden, ever since he started spending time with his mother; who would read beautiful poems to him; every evening when he whined for comfort. He didn't understand those complicated words, but listening to her saying them was more than enough to sooth him for the rest of the day.

But today, his mother was out early. She told her children to stay home and to not disturb the landlord. Ludwig obeyed. Gilbert was a bit hard-headed. As usual, he would roam around town and bring back something that was often very valuable. It was as if luck is on his side, or thievery is in his blood.

But Ludwig didn't mind. Probably he didn't understand his brother's behavior as much as his mother's poetic voice.

His blue eyes widened in curiosity and he tilted his head to the side, just so he could peek on what his brother was hiding behind his back. But Gilbert was good at giving out surprises.

"What ish that...?" little shy Ludwig muttered, a little impatiently. "Tell me, Gilbet...what ish that?" Gilbert kept on grinning; his chest swelled with pride at what he was about to show. He gave out a loud '_ta-da-_' and shoved the object into the gap between him and his little brother.

An army knife. Still intact in its casing.

Just like the one they had seen in that one American movie, about an American soldier who had fought in Vietnam and against his superiors. The first time they had actually watched something on a television. They had tried many times to watch the cartoon that the landlord would switch on for his family, but eventually they get shooed away. But that one time…somehow they managed to sneak in quietly into the living room and watch from behind the sofa, as the landlord dozed off with his mouth open on it.

The guns shooting. The bombs exploding and the people screaming. It was horrible, but for small children like Ludwig and Gilbert; who had never seen 'moving pictures' before; it was more than fascinating.

And since then, Gilbert had always boasted about his father, of which neither of them had met, to be a soldier sent to wild tropical jungles to fight evil men…a reason to actually stop himself from questioning his mother about who his daddy was. He had always pretend that he was as brave as his imaginary father, as he jumped on the bed and stayed up by the cellar door; pretending to protect his mother and brother from bad men. Sometimes he would go as far as dirtying his face and clothes with charcoal to look like a soldier, and making a rifle and grenades out of cardboard boxes.

Cardboards were fake; a child's play. But this…this knife was real.

"Pretty neat, huh? I found it in the garbage bin near that fat bloke's smelly cigar shop." Ludwig giggled at his brother calling someone a 'bloke'. It was bad, but his childish mind could only think funny things with that word.

Gilbert giggled as well. He slowly pulled out the knife and gave out an awing sound similar to Ludwig's. It had a nine inch blade with a jagged spine. The heel had small blotches of rust on them and the edge looked slightly blunt, but the tip was still sharp and it glistened under the afternoon sun.

"Look, Ludwig! Just like in that movie! I'm sure my dad had a knife just like this!"

"_J-ja..!_ Daddy hash knife…" the four-year old repeated Gilbert's words, silently fighting the urge to touch the scary object in the older one's hands.

His brother frowned, though, and he placed the knife behind his back again. "_Nein!_ **My** daddy, not yours! Yours is a...a...a spaceman! He's up there on the moon...fighting big giant robots! You said so!"

"_Ja...ja?_" Ludwig tilted his head to the side, somewhat confused at what his brother was telling him. He stared at the other's angered face, and wondered if he had said something wrong. Sure, he didn't know who his father was, or Gilbert's. He didn't even know if his father was a cosmonaut on the moon, or if he actually did say so. He was just a baby. He didn't know anything; surely he shouldn't be blamed for the confusion, right?

"_Ja,_ you said so!" Gilbert repeated. But somehow, Ludwig had lost interest in continuing the conversation, and he replied with a simple nod...before turning around and getting down in a squat. His little chubby hands started to be busy again with the pile of dried soil he managed to heap into a tiny hill.

Gilbert frowned more. But it didn't last long before the same impish grin took over his face again.

He held the knife on his right hand and threw his arms up in the air; making a 'monster shape' with them. He inched near towards his brother, purposely making a growling sound as his shadow started to cover Ludwig's small body. The younger one realized what his brother was up to in time and he ran to the side to avoid him, screaming.

Gilbert didn't flinch at the shriek, and continued to walk to his brother in a zombie-like stance. "Roar..! I'm Gilbo, the dinosaur! I'm soooo…hungry!" he growled as he followed Ludwig, who was still screaming and running around in the garden. As mentioned, the garden wasn't big, so they were only doing this in small circles, sometimes in zigzags.

After a while, the shrieks became uncontrollable laughter. Both of the boys were laughing at each other, lost in their little stupid game.

Somehow the older boy managed to grab his brother and he held him close. Gilbert locked Ludwig's neck with his arm loosely, just like how he would do if he wanted to give the poor blonde a noogie. But instead of a knuckle to the head, Gilbert placed the knife just a mere inch away from Ludwig's neck. Just like how they saw in that movie.

Gilbert was still grinning. And Ludwig didn't mind at all.

No, Ludwig did mind. He was scared of that foreign object. He had seen his mother handled it in her hand when she cooked…something similar like this…and she never let him near her when she held it. Being the good, quiet child he was, he obeyed.

But he didn't know why his mother said no. And he still didn't know why it feels thrilling to see the knife near him. Everything feels like a game when his brother is around. Although sometimes in the game he would lose to his brother, sometimes he would get hurt and he would cry searching for his mother. Even if his brother did make him cry, he would apologize and tried to make him laugh again. It was all a game in the end, with nothing to gamble but the hurtful price of losing.

Ludwig giggled in his brother's arm and squirmed slightly. He didn't want to escape from his brother's grasp, but at the same time he didn't want the knife to touch him either. "_Nein..._Gilbert_...nein...Mutti! Hilf mir!_" He hollered in between his giggle fits. Gilbert just laughed at his brother's reaction. Then both started to laugh loudly in the garden; drowning the sounds of cars passing by and the dog barking two blocks away from where they were.

Just two poor but happy boys, playing a game they created for themselves. A game with fate as the gambling deck.

But fate knows no boundaries, it knows no mercy.

Suddenly, the landlord's pet, a fat black cat with a pouty face that disliked almost every kid in the neighbourhood, jumped forward in front of them. Both Gilbert and Ludwig jumped in utter surprise to this untimely interruption. The cat appeared from nowhere (probably from the kitchen, but the brothers were too engrossed in their playtime to realize it) and it came into the garden in huge leaps, before landing on top of the wooden fence. It gave the brothers a spiteful glare, before disappearing into the next house.

"Phew. That fatso scared me!" Gilbert laughed out loud and let go off his little brother. "I don't understand why the landlord would keep such a fat lazy cat in this house! It's not like it would bark on thieves or anything! Right, Ludwig?"

The blonde boy was standing still. His icy blue eyes widened at the unfamiliar colour staining the front of his shirt and his overalls. The colour continued to drip down to the dusty soil underneath his bare feet. He was scared. His mother is going to be mad about his dirty clothes. The landlord is going to scold him for making a mess in his garden.

But there was something else. Something he would only feel when Gilbert pinched him, or when he twisted his knuckles on his head. Something that resulted with him crying for his mother...

It was pain that he felt, and it didn't stop like it should. He couldn't cry either. Oh, God, it hurt so much but he couldn't cry.

Fate knows no tears, it knows no pain.

"L-Ludwig...?" Gilbert called out again, this time with a quivering, quiet voice. He held on his brother's shoulder and tried to turn him around, but he didn't budge one bit.

It was unnerving. Very unnerving.

Fate is cruel.

Gilbert took a few steps closer and ended up right in front of Ludwig. His eyes widened in horror. Suddenly every lean muscle in his body wobbled and shook weakly, terrified. His fingers let loose and the bloodied knife dropped down on the ground with a faint ting. He opened his mouth, trying to scream at what he just saw. What he had done.

He didn't know anything. Little Ludwig didn't know anything too.

There was a short but deep cut in the middle of Ludwig's throat, and endless blood was oozing out of the gap of skin and flesh. The little boy didn't understand what was happening. He wanted to cry at the pain, he wanted to scream for his mother. But what came up was only gurgling sounds.

And he couldn't breathe. He felt his chest heavy with something else instead of air and he couldn't feel it heave out like how it should when he inhaled.

He was scared. So scared. He tried to reach for his brother but he tripped on his own foot and fell on his side. He tried to cry and scream again. His face grimaced, but no tears came. And that gurgling noise...Ludwig brought his chubby hand to his throat and attempted to stop the pain on it, possibly that unsettling sounds. Like water boiling in the kettle whenever his mother wanted to make warm milk for them-

Oh, God. He wanted his mother so badly.

_Mutti! Hilf mir!_

No tears when he wanted to cry, no voice when he wanted to scream for help.

Blackness was taking over and, even if the boy was too young to understand what actually happened to him, he knew he could never see his mother after this. He couldn't explain why he felt that way, but he just knew it. He was done for.

"Ludwig!" The little boy heard a cry as his vision blurred. It was his brother, Gilbert.

Of course. How could he forget about him? His loving brother. The only brother he had. The only other boy whom he played with, whom he ate with, whom he shared a bed with alongside their mother...

Gilbert took the injured boy into his arms; confusion and terror marked upon his face. He was frightened to touch Ludwig, but he braved himself to put his hand on the little one's throat. To stop the blood that was soaking the soil underneath them, at least.

"Ludwig...L-Ludwig...s-stay with me...I'm...I'm sorry...I d-didn't...didn't mean it..." Gilbert muttered between his sobs. He was scared as much as Ludwig was. "L-Ludwig...! Ludwig! _N-nein!_ Don't close your eyes! H-help! Help, somebody! P-please! Help! My brother...! My brother!" Fear and guilt invaded his every senses and he became totally panicked. When he realized his little brother wasn't blinking anymore, he screamed.

He screamed for their mother. He screamed for his imaginary father. For Ludwig's imaginary father.

He screamed for help.

..

* * *

.

The children were screaming.

But they weren't screaming for help, nor were they screaming for any sort of horror they saw. After a few seconds of the scream, they started to laugh again.

Of course, who wouldn't do that when the storyteller was a good one?

Not to mention how motherly she looked. The woman in question had her brunette hair tied in a long braid. She had an artificial flower pinned at the side of her head, and her long floral-printed dress flowed beautifully under the glistening sunrays. She was sitting in the corner of the room on a wooden stool with a large picture book on her lap. Disabled children were sitting down on the floor, surrounding her in a semi-circle. One little girl with two ponytails and one blind eye was sitting closest to her.

From the distance between the woman and the glass wall, Ludwig couldn't make out the title of the book she was reading to the children, but there was a green man on the cover page, tip-toeing by a Christmas tree. Whatever the story was, it sure made the kids look at her in awe and followed every movement she made with her arms.

She strongly reminded Ludwig of his mother.

His sweet mother would always bathe with him and his brother when they were little kids. He would always play with her wet blonde hair and giggled when her soft hands tickled his sides. She would cook dinner and ate with them. Before she tucked them to bed she would make warm milk for them and read them stories from the books she borrowed from the landlord.

Sometimes, when she's not going anywhere, when his brother was playing elsewhere, he would sit with her in the garden. She would let him cuddle between her protective arm and warm breast, as she took out a notebook and a pencil, and started to compose poems. She would recite them when she was done with the writing.

The words that streamed out from her lips were beautiful. Her voice resonate their splendor together with the melody that nature decided to accompany it. Her poetic voice, so soothingly comforting in his ears...

Those days were nothing but memories now, though. It had been years since she had stopped composing and reciting her poems to him. It was since that careless accident, no doubt. But she still read him stories and hugged him a few years after. It was her illness. She started to look tired and she coughed blood almost every day. After a while, she had unhealed scabs on her arms and chest, she started to look painfully thin. She barely talked to him or his brother, too.

She didn't have the strength to write anymore from that point onward.

When Ludwig was fourteen, when he returned back from the special school; of which his mother had worked hard for him to be admitted in there; he found his mother on the floor. Collapsed and breathless. He didn't know his mother was already dead, but he proceeded to carry her to the hospital. He would have called for help, called the ambulance and paramedics, or his brother at least...but he couldn't.

Not because they were poor and couldn't afford a telephone. Not because he didn't want to knock on their neighbours' doors.

He just couldn't. He couldn't call for help. He couldn't tell people that his mother needed help.

Ever since that accident with the army knife...Although he was saved from death's arms, some part of his larynx was severely damaged from the cut. The surgeons managed to sew the cut and stop the bleeding, just in a nick of time...but the damage on the muscles that control his vocal was irreversible.

He was a mute.

And no one pays attention to mute people anyway. At least...not in where he lived.

Of course everything went haywire again since then. Both he and his brother, Gilbert, were thrown out of their home because they couldn't afford to pay the rent. Gilbert sent Ludwig to stay in a foster home, while he stayed elsewhere and continued to do his job, just so he could continue paying for his younger brother's school fees. Ludwig didn't know what his job was, but two years later, Gilbert got caught and was found guilty of robbing a store, armed with guns. The gang he was with had beaten up the poor storekeeper and one of them had attempted to rape his wife. They didn't manage to escape in time, though. Gilbert was sentenced eight years behind bars, while some of his 'friends' got more than ten.

Ludwig was frustratingly alone. But he had earned enough money and happiness to start over. He still lived in the foster home, but now he had taken up three jobs to save up money to buy a room. He managed to get two rooms in the end. At least, when his brother comes out of jail, he could stay there as he starts his own life anew again.

"You're still here, Ludwig?"

Ludwig looked to his side, slightly startled by the voice that greeted him. He smiled at the man, or more precisely, his consultant-cum-instructor, Dr. Francis Bonnefoy. The man was a scruffy person with his untrimmed beard and unkempt blonde hair tied in a low ponytail, given that the glasses were making him look pretty intelligent despite his untidy appearance. He had his hands in the pockets of his coat and he was leaning his side to the wall.

"You must be fond of Eliza..." Francis smiled in a teasing way. Ludwig made a face and moved his hands around, responding to his doctor in the only language he knew how to communicate with.

_- Don't be silly. As if I don't know she's married with Mr. Edelstein from the foster home..._

"Ah. But you seemed very attracted to her...I assume...she reminds you of your mother?" Francis asked, trying not to sound silly this time.

The younger man stared back at the woman. She was laughing with the children and she had her sweet smile shielded behind her soft-looking hand. He gave out a sad smile and responded slowly.

_- Yes. My mother used to read books for me...and my brother. Sometimes she would read the poems she wrote...Gilbert didn't really like poems; he thinks they're for girls._

Ludwig giggled a bit and continued to smile sadly. The smile that rarely show happiness.

_- But I like them. No, I **love** them. The poems she wrote were beautiful. Her poetic voice was like an angel's._

"Ah." Francis straightened himself up and folded his arms over his chest. "So that's where you get your little 'German romanticism' trait that you liked to show to me before our consultations?" Ludwig could feel the heat on his cheeks and pouted, quickly responded with quicker hand movements.

_- Don't call them that...! They're not that romantic...they're just normal poems. They weren't as good as my mother's. Besides...what's the use of calling them 'romantic' when I couldn't even recite them?_

Francis laughed and pulled the younger man near in a one-arm embrace. Ludwig blushed even more. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't get so worked up on it, Ludwig! I was just joking." He chuckled again, and Ludwig couldn't help but think that his laughter was ridiculously loud for someone with a few PhDs in hand.

"But, even if I am not an artistic person of any sort, I do think that your poems need something in it...some kind of feeling or...or emotion. _Tu as besoin d'amour, Louis._ Maybe if you can get someone to love you, it might just work!"

_- Shut up. I don't understand French. By the way, aren't you supposed to see your next patient now? _

"_Oui._ But he's not here yet...he did call to say that he'll be late..."

The doctor slowly walked to the direction of his office and dragged the younger man along. Ludwig had been in there just moments ago and ended his lessons and therapy session for the day; surely Francis didn't mean for him to come in again...for whatever silly reason he had in mind. But this time, Francis's face was dead serious.

"You told me your brother...err, Gilbert...you said he's going to be released tomorrow on parole, is that right?" Ludwig nodded to Francis's answer, wondering where the new conversation was heading to. "I don't know how to say this...Ludwig...somehow I think it's best for you to not be associated with your brother. Maybe let him live elsewhere...anywhere but near you. He's...dangerous. He needs some sort of rehabilitation before he could actually share a space with someone else."

Ludwig frowned deeply at this, and he stopped in his tracks, freeing Francis's arm away from him.

_- Say all you want, doc! He's the only family I have...even if he made me a mute; he's still my one and only brother!_

Ludwig angrily responded. He hated to feel hate for his brother, of what he had done to him. He knew it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

They were just kids. They didn't know anything.

"Okay, okay. This is just my suggestion, and it's alright if you don't want to take it." Francis put up his hands, facing his palms towards Ludwig in defense. Ludwig's face softened and he sighed.

_- I'm sorry...I didn't mean it. I think I better go now. I need to get ready to pick up my brother from prison tomorrow. So...coming Friday?_

"Yes. Coming Friday. At nine. Don't forget, Ludwig." Francis smiled and gave a few pats on the other man's shoulder. Ludwig returned the smile and continued down the hall past the doctor's office. Just one more corner and he would be at the lobby, and out from the small specialist hospital.

Fate knows nothing, it seems. It is cruel, but it can also be a given.

That is if...knocking into someone is considered a given.

Ludwig must have walked too fast while the other person was walking too slowly. Either way, the impact was pretty strong and both of them fell on the floor with a loud thud. The blonde winced in pain and tried to get up. He felt slightly angry at that person who he had bumped into. If he had his voice now, he would have yelled at that man for not looking at where he was going. Sign language couldn't express his emotions that correctly.

"I...I'm sorry...I-I thought there was no one in front of me..."

Ludwig got on his knees and stared at the other, his brows no longer furrowed like when he had tripped and brought the stranger down with him. The soft, almost melodic-like voice the man had was very...soothing. Just like his mother's.

When she spoke her songs in her poetic voice...

"I'm sorry. You're alright, _da?_ I hope..."

So beautiful.

Ludwig kept on staring at the man, who was also on his knees as well. He couldn't see his face at the angle where he was at. The stranger was patting the floor as if he was searching for something...but his eyesight (or at least, his head) was facing straight ahead. Unless he's searching with his eyes closed, or...

The blonde German noticed the Hoover cane located a few feet away from them and realized that the man he had hit really couldn't see. No wonder he didn't move to the side when Ludwig rushed out from the corner...

He was blind.

Ludwig hurriedly stood up and went to pick up the cane, blushing furiously in embarrassment from his previous intentions to scold at the blind stranger. He then helped him up on his feet and placed the white cane into his hand.

"Ah~ _spasiba!_ I can never walk without this...Thank you very much." The man chirped and smiled cheerfully to the empty space in front of him. "You sure walk quietly! I didn't even hear you approaching from the front..."

Now that Ludwig was standing at his side, he couldn't help but observe the taller man's features. He had blonde hair highlighted in the colour of ash, he had a large nose that goes well with his round face and large frame. He had a red scarf wrapping around his neck of which the tails reached to his knees. His smile was as radiant as that of the morning sun, but his eyes...

Oh, how Ludwig wished he could see his eyes behind those closed eyelids. They must be as beautiful as his elegant voice, even more beautiful than his sweet smile-

Ludwig shook his head as if to slap some sense into his mind. What was he thinking? All those thoughts, those words that he could have written in his poems...they sounded like...he was falling in love.

_You need love, Ludwig. _

Was he really falling in love? The idea of it only made him blush even more.

Of course not! ...Well, maybe. But anyway, the man was just a stranger to him; he didn't even know his name. Besides, the man might be older than him, probably by a good five years or more. Not to mention that he's a man and he's blind-

Again; _what was he thinking?_ The man was no different. One can't tell if he likes a man or a woman at first glance, but time and persuasion could help in that. And what is the problem of him being old either? And wasn't he, Ludwig Beilschmidt, a disabled man as well, just like this man...this man named-

"Ivan? Is that- oh, it is you! I thought I heard a loud thud just now...did you fall down?"

The nurse. Francis's assistant; a sweet girl with a heavy French accent, despite having a darker, more brownish skin than the usual French that Ludwig had seen.

"Ah, _nyet._ It was nothing. Umm...is the doctor available now? He told me he had a patient this morning and...well, I was a bit late. I missed the bus-"

"Oh, he's available now. Come..."

She smiled and held the man's - Ivan's - hand and led him towards the room. Ludwig heard their conversation continued down the corridor and hesitantly followed them. He made sure his steps were as silent as possible and kept on following them. He couldn't really grasp what they were saying, but then he heard the girl hollered;

"Dr. Bonnefoy! Ivan Braginski is here for his therapy."

Ludwig peeked from the corner that led to the doctor's office and spied on them. He noticed Francis coming out of the bathroom at the end of the isle and waved his hand to the nurse...and Ivan. As if he could see that gesture...

"Ah..._merci._ Lead Ivan in, dear. So! How has it been-"

The voices were muffled as the door of Dr. Bonnefoy's room closed shut, and the hallways were empty again. Ludwig didn't know why he couldn't get his mind off the stranger... No, he's no stranger anymore.

Ludwig already knew his name. Ivan Braginski.

Such a gallant name for a gentle giant like him. And the gorgeous ring to it...it just suited Ludwig for his next composition. The German went back into the lobby and sat down at one of the waiting chairs in front of the receptionist. He scavenged for his notepad and pencil in his bag, took them out and started to write Ivan's name. He wasn't sure how to spell his last name though. Was it an 'I' or was it a 'Y' at the end there...?

Ah, it didn't matter.

He started to write his poem. Something in the words he spilled out on the paper rhymes just right. No, they were perfectly beautiful. Just like how his mother would narrate the verses and stories behind those letters as they sit in the garden; watching the blue afternoon sky under the shades of the house...

_You  
but a thousand sun  
lying across the fields_

_Flowers still pose  
its summer dreams  
Where will your heart  
open to _

Perhaps Francis was right. He did need love to make his poems work. And even if this was his first time to actually fall in love with someone, everything was perfect.

No, he took that back. It wasn't his poems that were perfect. It was him; Ivan Braginski. His beaming smile, his pleasing voice...everything was just perfect.

_You  
never stray one rose  
on starry streams_

_Endless leaves run  
veiling my heart yields  
When will I start  
to be true_

Ivan Braginski is perfect. And he had fallen in love with him.

.

* * *

**A/N:** Consider this a beta-testing sort of story. A local 30-minute drama sitcom inspired me to write it. It had similar characters, but the setting is different and towards the end, the story became a little twisted. I don't know how many chapters will I write for this...maybe another 8 or 9? I'm not sure.  
I'm no expert in anything medical, especially about injuries...and I don't know sign language either. Forgive me if I offend anyone by my lack of depth in research.

Also, I find this as an excuse to write poems. I haven't written them for a very, very long time.

And uhh...other stories? I'll try my best to get them done soon. ^w^u


End file.
